


Fear Itself

by withcoffeespoons



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withcoffeespoons/pseuds/withcoffeespoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear is a part of everyday life at the 4077th.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Itself

“You used to be so afraid,” Hawkeye says, like it’s a punchline. “What happened?” The fact of the matter is BJ’s afraid in the way everyone is afraid. He’s just better at hiding it.

With Hawkeye it’s the frenetic joie de vivre that defines him, an incessant reminder that he is alive, alive, alive because maybe if he stops for two minutes, he’ll remember he’s terrified every time he closes his eyes. Terrified of failure, terrified of death--and he’s never sure which is worse.

Frank layers his fear in paranoia and neuroses and it makes him more interesting in the way that flies make fly-paper more interesting. He whimpers in his sleep, though, but never on the nights they can hear the bombs dropping; that’s when he smiles in his sleep, and BJ has never seen anything more unsettling.

Margaret, who tries not to be afraid of anything, is most afraid of herself, of becoming and not becoming, and so many complexities of self that BJ wonders if she even knows who she is.

Klinger is an enigma of a man who could make a living out of his fear. BJ used to think it was fear for his life, but he understands now it is fear for his self. The US Army has little use for a man who remains unabashedly himself--but a man who remains so has little use for the US Army.

For BJ, the fear came quickly and soon he learned that he either had to tamp it down and tame it, or he wouldn’t make it in this place. He’s a gentle man, and that nature contradicts life in a warzone. But BJ has steady hands and a strong stomach in the face of fear--he has to.

But fear never really goes away. You can feel it holding onto you, burrowing deep inside, waiting. Fear demands its presence.

And it’s in his dreams that BJ is really afraid. There are the obvious nightmares--dying, being shot. Frank operating on him. Losing Erin, losing Peg.

One twisted dream turns a wounded soldier into Peg as he cuts into her, screaming, without anesthetic. (His hands are less steady in the face of fear that day, and he has to ask Potter to close for him before he runs outside to throw up.)

BJ dreams about losing Hawkeye. Not to death or the war or anything that makes sense. What drives the stake of fear deep into his heart is watching Hawkeye pack, walk out of the tent, and fly stateside without a word.

He doesn’t know how to hold onto a person like that, how to keep him grounded. It’s Hawkeye. His very nature defies it.

BJ doesn’t let him out of his sight all day, not even to shower.

Hawkeye notices. “What’s with the shadow act?” he asks, holding a sock up to the light. BJ’s not sure if he’s looking for sweat stains or lice.

“No act,” BJ tries, “I thought I’d just try it on for size. Test it out before I commit.” It’s the type of nonsense that flows easily between them.

Hawkeye pretends to regard him with scrutiny. “You’re too long for me.”

“I’ll only come out at sunset.”

“Seriously Beej.”

BJ swallows a belt from the still, grinding his teeth as it climbs its way down. “Didn’t want you to miss me.”

Hawkeye tenses. “Miss you? You planning a vacation?”

BJ tries to keep it light, shrugs and suggests Malibu.

“What do you mean miss you?” he asks again, though, and BJ feels suddenly cornered.

“It’s ridiculous,” BJ says defensively.

“Uh-huh. So let’s have the laugh.” Hawkeye’s expression is grave, though, and BJ isn’t sure whether he’s projecting or sensing the mood in the tent, the way everything is suddenly cold.

“I...had a dream.”

“Go on,” Hawkeye says warily.

“That you went home.” BJ sorts his socks, one pile clean, one pile dirty, avoiding Hawkeye’s gaze. “Alone. Um. Without telling me.”

There’s a look of pained understanding and sympathy that BJ wishes he could erase from Hawkeye’s face.

“I guess I just. Needed to know you’re not going anywhere.”

“Put a bell around my neck,” he says, but there’s a creak as he rises from his cot and steps over laundry and magazines and rat droppings to get to BJ’s. The canvas whines under their combined weight, but Hawkeye pays it no mind.

BJ isn’t sure what he wants--or what he’s offering. Whether by accident or design, they fall asleep both on the cot, packed together like two sardines on too narrow a space, but warm and present.

BJ’s nightmares take the night off.


End file.
